


A Moment of Change

by liamthebastard



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Deathfic, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Well that got angsty very very quickly, eventual happiness?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-21
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-26 07:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/648188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liamthebastard/pseuds/liamthebastard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Watson died, very few were left to mourn him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment of Change

When John Watson died, very few were left to mourn him. 

Mycroft and Lestrade had both attended. Molly Hooper and Mrs. Hudson had sat together as Mrs. Hudson cried into Molly’s shoulder. Mike Stamford had sat uncomfortably towards the back, despite there being plenty of open seats. Harry had died in a drunk driving accident earlier that year. Sherlock was long gone. And so, only five people lamented the passing of one John Hamish Watson. 

But John didn’t mind. 

*

Dying hadn’t hurt, not the way he’d anticipated. All in all, it was rather… ridiculous. That he should die of something as simple as a blood clot. He’d never seen it coming, it had simply happened. One moment he’d been living, breathing, and waiting patiently for his next patient in the surgery. The next, he’d been- someplace else. 

It was strangely dim, like the stairwell at 221B, which was ridiculous, because he hadn’t been back there in years. Not since Sherlock’s death. Oh, he and Mrs. Hudson still exchanged Christmas cards, and met occasionally for tea, but it had been six years, and John had managed to move on with his life. Yet, when he thought of home, he still pictured the sitting room with ridiculous pseudo-Victorian wallpaper and a skull on the mantel. 

“John,” came a soft exhalation from behind him. John turned –he hadn’t realized he had a body until the moment it was needed- and took in with shock the lanky figure he thought he’d never see. 

“Sherlock,” he breathed, half-prayer half-curse. “How are you-”

“Alive?” Sherlock finished, stepping closer, until he and John were only a breath apart and John could see the strange sadness and uncertainty in the taller man’s face. Slowly Sherlock shook his head, moving the dark curls slightly as he did so. “I’m not, John.”

“So… You’re dead. And I’m with you. That means I’m…” John broke off with a sigh. “I don’t remember it.”

“You wouldn’t. It was very quick,” Sherlock explained. 

“But, Sherlock. You died, nearly seven years ago. Why haven’t you… gone on?” John asked, feeling a bit silly. There was a door clearly leading someplace better only feet away from them, John could _feel_ that they were supposed to move through that doorway and into whatever was beyond it. 

Sherlock only looked at him, and it was so familiar, so beautifully familiar, his Look. The one that said we-both-know-what’s-really-going-on-here. And this time, this time John did. 

“You waited for me.”

“Yes.”

“All this time?”

“Yes.”

John paused, looking up at the blue- grey- green- whatever the hell they were- eyes. Then he nodded briskly, going up on tiptoes before kissing the detective lightly on the cheek. Sherlock’s eyes lit up. 

“Shall we?” John asked, holding out his arm and gesturing towards the door.

“Together?” Sherlock asked hesitantly, already lacing his arm through John’s.

John grinned at him, the grin of the old days that promised chases and adventure. “Together.”

**Author's Note:**

> Jesus that was sad. Seriously, I don't even know where that came from, but well, there it is.


End file.
